


count your blessings (not your flaws)

by zerotransfat



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: ...not in a creepy way though don't worry, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe- Youkai, And the Problems With It, Angst, By Leaving the Country, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hotarubi no Mori e AU, Immortality, Insecure Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, The Most Melodramatic Boy, The Nishigori Tags are there for a reason, Victor Avoiding His Problems, trust me they are here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9870461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerotransfat/pseuds/zerotransfat
Summary: In the countryside where Victor’s Aunt Natasha lived, there is a forest. People say that there are strange things living there, and if you wander in you can never find your way out again.He was six years old when he got lost. And then, just as Victor was crying alone in the middle of the woods...he appeared.(A Hotarubi no Mori e AU, where Victor grows up and falls in love with the spirit living in the mountains behind his aunt’s house that he meets every summer. A tale of distance, time, and life.)





	1. Overhearing a Flower Song

**Author's Note:**

> WOOOOOOO FINALLY IT'S DONE  
> I REGRET NOTHING! N O TH IN G!
> 
> I used to be a writer like you, and then I took a dose of real life and writer's block to the knee

******_i. feel the ocean as it breathes, shivering teeth_ **

“Wow…” Victor gasped, gaping at the old cobblestone staircase leading up the hill, up to a gate with no walls. It was tied with rope and paper charms across the wide entrance, framing the empty space like a barred door. The summer breeze blew through the gaps in the trees, rustling leaves and shifting dappled shadows on the ground.

He skipped up the moss covered steps, past the small stone tablets with funny little monks in relief, and stared in awe at the vividly green leaves.

The boy walked up to touch the torii gate. The wood was cool to the touch, red paint faded after years of exposure to the elements, but it was still sturdy—a testament to the expertise of the original builders.

The forest was deep and dark, filled with stories and secrets that Victor was dying to find out. To a six-year-old kid, a forest like this was the best place for adventures.

Without thinking too much about it, Victor circled around the gate to walk further and deeper in.

* * *

“I’m…” Victor looked around frantically at the unfamiliar surroundings. “Where am I?!”

The trees no longer looked inviting; instead, the shadows seemed to grow longer and longer, making the once beautiful woods a sinister place.

Being six years old and alone in a foreign land, Victor started to sob.

His cries echoed among the trees—sound tended to carry in lonely places.

He cried and cried, face flushed and knees hugged close to his chest, arms curled around himself.

Victor didn’t know exactly how long he sat there, slumped against the roots of a tree, but it must have been a long time; the sun was already lower in the sky than when he had barrelled out of Aunt Natasha’s house; she was going to get worried soon.

Suddenly, there came the rustle of leaves. The boy looked up with a jerking motion, eyes wide and searching the surroundings.

There was a peculiar man standing behind a tree some paces away, head tilted; his face was covered by a strange mask and with his dark kimono the lines of his figure seemed to blend into the shadows. He held a red paper umbrella over his head, to shield his skin from the sun.

“Um, a-are you lost?”

The phrase was spoken in perfect Russian, and Victor stopped his sobbing to stare at the man; no one in the whole town besides Aunt Natasha spoke it, and this man spoke without a single trace of an accent!

The relief at being found and being able to talk in Russian for the first time in days caught up to Victor, and with a particularly dramatic wail, he launched himself at the stranger.

Only for the man to awkwardly move out of the way.

Victor landed face first into the grass, sliding a little on the forward momentum of his leap.

He turned an unimpressed look on the stranger, who seemed oddly uncomfortable.

“That was mean!” Victor said, pouted at the man. “Let me hug you!”

“I’m-I’m really sorry! Um, I can’t let you touch me—if you do that, I’ll disappear.”

“Dis-disappear?”

“Mhmm. It’s a spell that the mountain gods put on me. I’m allowed to live like a spirit, but if I touch a human I’ll disappear forever.” The man tilted his head to one side. “So, I’m sorry, but, um. I can’t hug you. I’d be...obliterated.”

Victor winced. “Uh, tha-that doesn’t sound good.”

“I-it really isn’t. So, um, I-I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself. If I may ask, why are you in the forest anyway? Very few humans wander in here, and they’ll get lost forever if they come in too far without a guide.” The spirit said, and his voice sounded like he was smiling as he spoke. “Do you need me to show you a way out?”

Victor nodded, intensely relieved. The man furled up his paper parasol and held it parallel to the ground in his direction. “H-here, hold on to the other end of my umbrella.”

Victor had a moment of hesitation, wondering if all of this was really just a hallucination brought on by the summer heat. The man didn’t say anything, only waited.

The umbrella was almost too solid under his fingers when he reached out and took it; the waxy paper was strangely smooth in his hand, and Victor wondered if the man’s own skin was as smooth if he happened to touch him.

After the man made sure Victor had recovered his footing, he set off in a moderate pace, leading Victor out of the dense forest.

He led him past the dark trees that were foreboding just a second ago but seemed utterly normal now, past the dirt trail Victor had wandered off into the woods, and onto the moss-covered stone stairs, taking them one at a time to make it easier on Victor’s already exhausted body.

Before long, Victor could see the torii gate he had circled around earlier in the day, further down the stairs; never in his life has he been so relieved to see it.

“That gate there is the boundary of the forest—I can’t go any further than here.” The man said, gently.

“I recognize this place! Um, I can make my way back from here.” Victor let go of the umbrella, holding his arms out so he wouldn’t lose his balance on the stairs. He looked up at the man, who was still looking back at him.

“I’m here for the summer, staying with my Aunt Natasha. Can I see you again? I’ll wait here at this gate for you!” Victor babbled, full-speed Russian just flooding out of his mouth; the man seemed slightly taken aback at the sudden burst of words.

“Uh, sure?” he said, and Victor beamed. “Okay! See you here tomorrow!”

He was three steps away down the stairs when the man called out behind him.

“U-um, my name is Yuuri! I-I’ll wait!”

By the time Victor looked back, Yuuri was already gone.

There was a skip in Victor’s step all the way back, even though his aunt got a little mad at him for wandering off.

“Where on earth were you, Vitya? Your mother would have killed me if I lost you out in the woods!” Aunt Natasha scolded as he ran out of the bushes to take her hand.

“I’m alright, I was just off playing.” Victor smiled, and hoped Aunt Natasha didn’t notice his wet eyelashes and realize he had been crying. “Say, Aunt Natasha?”

“Hmm?” She hummed, not really paying attention.

“Have you ever heard stories about things living in the woods around here?”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Aunt Natasha said thoughtfully. “Your Uncle Daisuke has told me stories about the spirits, _youkai_ , that live in the woods. Do you want to hear some of them? Of course, Daisuke would know more, but I could tell you some.”

“Yes please!” He said, and Aunt Natasha smiled indulgently.

“Well, Daisuke always said that there are mountain gods living in the forest…”

* * *

  ** _ii. see the mountains where they meet, smothering me_**

Victor set out bright and early the next day, grabbing a bag of snacks and calling out to Aunt Natasha that he was going out to explore.

“Alright dear! Just be back before it gets dark!” His aunt called back, and then Victor was off like a shot, heading straight for the woods.

Yuuri was waiting for him where he said he would be, standing near the trees, looking out at the cliffside at the top of the hill. He was still dressed in the same dark kimono and wearing the fox mask as yesterday.

He saw Victor coming up the hill and waved to him. Victor waved back, and hurried up the few stairs to the torii gate.

“You’re here!” Victor cheered and made a motion as if to try to jump on Yuuri again. In an automatic response, the man shoved the umbrella in front of him to provide an extra barrier against accidental contact.

“Right, no touching. I brought snacks!” Victor beamed anyway, waving around the little plastic baggy full of unhealthy food; his mother would have been hopping mad if she knew Aunt Natasha was letting him eat that much junk and sugar.

“Uh,” Yuuri said. “Sure? Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere we can sit and eat! I brought so much pudding, you have no idea.”

“Alright,” Yuuri said softly. “I think I know a place.”

“Yeah!” Victor skipped ahead, swinging the food as he went along.

“Wait, Victor! You’re going to—” Yuuri called, voice exasperated and nervous. Even as Victor turned back to answer his body collided with something that was distinctly not a tree.

He turned around to see something that could be best described as an amorphous blob with teeth—rows upon rows of sharp, _sharp_ teeth.

 _“Impudent human,”_ it growled, a deep menacing sound that made the hairs on the back of Victor’s neck stand up. _“Stay away from Yuuri! Don’t you dare touch him!”_

Victor backed away quickly, only to lose his footing and end up on his butt. He stared up at the frightening monster still growling at him inches from his face.

“Mari-neechan,” Yuuri sighed from behind him. “Please stop scaring him, Victor hasn’t done anything wrong.”

The lips of the beast only curled downward before a puff of smoke engulfed its form, dissipating to reveal a woman with fox’s ears tucked behind a bandana. Her large fluffy tail waved lazily behind her, the brown fur standing on end.

“C’mon, little brother, I was just looking out for you!” She complained, waving her pipe at Victor’s nose. “Again, stay away from him.”

 _“Mari-neechan,”_ Yuuri said, annoyed.

Mari huffed, and walked into the bushes. Before she left she called back a quick, “Just be careful, little brother! Don’t you dare come too close to Yuuri!” before her silhouette disappeared into the trees.

Victor stared at this whole exchange, wide-eyed; as Yuuri turned in his direction to apologize, Victor threw up his arms in exhilaration.

“I just met a real monster! Wow!” He cheered even as Yuuri yelped, “What about _me!_ I’m a youkai too!” indignantly.

* * *

After a good twenty minutes of hiking up narrow mountain trails, they reach a small meadow filled with summer sunshine, the wildflowers a riot of colour on dotted across the field in full bloom. Victor almost couldn’t stop the physical gasp that escaped him as he saw the place; without a second thought he ran ahead and flopped onto the grass.

Yuuri only laughed and flopped down a few feet away from him, displacing a few dragonflies from the ground.

Without even really being aware of it, they talked about whatever came to mind—Yuuri talked about the various antics of youkai (of which there were many), and Victor about skating and living in Russia.

(“Well, Russia is okay, I guess. I don’t see my parents a whole lot, and all my spare time is put into practicing my skating,” Victor said, as casually as a six-year-old could about such things. It felt like a secret confided to the grass alone, and Yuuri didn’t say anything but Victor knew he heard.)

Yuuri also turned out to have a strange fascination with the flan pudding cups Victor brought with him; the youkai of the mountain didn’t have the means to make sweets like that, and the sweetest thing he’s ever had were the persimmons that grow on the other side of the mountain during autumn.

Victor only babbled on and on about skating before he realized, a full three stories later, that Yuuri had fallen asleep.

He gingerly got up from his position, maneuvering his body to kneel at Yuuri’s head. The boy stared intently at the spirit’s mask, gripped by burning curiosity.

“It should be fine if I only touch the mask,” Victor whispered to himself. With trembling fingers, he lifted the ceramic off Yuuri’s face.

The features behind the mask were almost ordinary to the point of blandness if on anyone else, and yet Victor couldn’t stop himself from staring at Yuuri’s face. He looked at the snub nose, the delicate lines of his mouth, the flush in his cheeks.

And then, Yuuri opened his eyes.

Victor only got a glimpse of glittering chocolate brown before he panicked and slammed the mask back onto Yuuri’s face.

“Mmmmpphhh!” Yuuri squeaked in pain and protest even as Victor scooched backwards to avoid contact.

“I thought you were asleep!” Victor said, annoyed and still a little jumpy.

“I-I don’t think I could sleep with you so close!” Yuuri protested, clutching at his own chest in a show of shock. Victor puffed out his cheeks, pouting at the spirit.

“Just for that, you owe me a date!”

“A date? Aren’t you...a little young for that?” Yuuri looked at Victor, tilting his head in puzzlement. “I mean, I’m not a great judge of ages, but I think dating a six-year-old is a little…”

Victor crossed his arms. “I’m six and a half! And haven’t we already done all the things needed for a date? I saw in mama’s movie that people were supposed to eat together for a date. We already had pudding together, so that’s step one!”

“Um,” Yuuri said, fiddling with his umbrella. “I don’t have a lot of experience, but I’m almost sure that is not how a date works.”

“Yuuuuurriiiii, let’s just play!”

“This has to be the most bizarre date I’ll ever have, and I live with youkai,” the spirit said, disconcerted.

“Less talking, more playing!”

* * *

**_iii._ ** **_as the wind fends off the waves i count down the days_ **

The rest of the summer passed in a haze of heat and playing in the forest. The woods were especially lovely when you had someone to play with who knew all the best spots for berries and tree climbing, and Victor took full advantage of it, tagging along with the mountain spirit every day. Yuuri didn’t seem to mind.

Victor had never talked to anyone as much as he did to Yuuri in his short life; never before did the young boy have a friend like the mountain spirit. He talked about all the things he liked (skating, Aunt Tasha and Uncle Daisuke), the things he disliked (staying in an empty house as his parents were off elsewhere, leaving him alone for days), the things he wanted to see more of (Yuuri).

“I like to skate too,” Yuuri said one afternoon. Victor stopped swinging his foot through the water of the lotus flower pond.

“Really?!” He said excitedly. “Show me! You have to show me!”

“Well, I kind of...can’t,” Yuuri said. “I can only skate when this pond freezes over during the winter, and I can’t go out of this forest to a skating rink during the summer. You’re leaving in a few days, aren’t you? Fall is coming.”

“Awww,” Victor pouted. “I really wanted to skate with you, Yuuri! And I wanted you to see me skate my program too! Yakov yells at me because I do jumps I’m not supposed to but all the judges and the audience are always so surprised!”

“I want to see that too, to be truthful. I’m sure it must be beautiful.” Yuuri said, his expression wistful.

That wistfulness persisted for quite a few days; Victor would catch the sad expression from Yuuri out of the corner of his eye whenever the spirit thought he wasn’t looking.

He was, and he didn’t like it.

So in an effort to cheer him up, Victor got up extra early in the morning to climb one of the trees he knew Yuuri must walk by to get to the torii.

He sat on the branch, making sure he was hidden by the yellowing leaves, waiting to see that familiar red umbrella. Before long came the rustling of geta sandals on grass, and Victor grinned in anticipation.

“Boo!” He shouted, hooking his legs on the branch and swinging down in one smooth motion.

Yuuri’s unimpressed eyes behind the mask stared back at him, still upside-down. “What are you doing?” The spirit asked, dryly.

Victor, in an impressive display of core strength for a six-year-old, flipped up again gracefully. “I’m trying to cheer you up!” The skater beamed. “Did it work?”

“Well, kind of. Maybe get down from there first? That doesn’t look like a very solid place to sit.”

Victor, just to be contrary, stood up on the branch. It felt reassuringly solid underneath his sneakers.

Of course, just to be contrary to him, the branch snapped under his feet, and Victor was falling.

What happened next felt like slow motion, although it couldn’t have been more than a few moments—he was falling, and Yuuri was running towards him, bare arms outstretched and ready to—

_No!_

In the last possible instant, Yuuri seemed to remember himself and pull back; Victor had a split second of relief before he landed on the leaves of the branch, unhurt but for a few bumps and bruises.

“Victor?! Oh my god, are you okay?” Yuuri knelt down and frantically searched Victor for any sign of injury, sighing a little when there seemed to be none in sight. “Are you hurt anywhere? Did you hit your head? Oh god, please say something!”

“I-I’m okay.” Victor slid to his knees in front of Yuuri, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. “B-But—Yuuri! You shouldn’t have tried to catch me! What if you touched me?! That-That was too close! I don’t want you to disappear!” Victor clawed at the grass beside him, eyes firmly on the foot of distance between their knees. His vision blurred, and before he knew it he was crying, big ugly sobs as his tears poured down his cheeks. “ _Why did you try to catch me?_ I’m- I’m not worth—”

“Victor,” Yuuri said, and Victor looked up at him. The spirit had taken off his mask, his brown eyes meeting Victor’s own. He smiled. “Don’t say that. I would save your life if you were about to die, touch or not. All’s well that ends well, hm? I know today’s your last day staying with your Aunt Natasha, so why don’t we go to the pond and we can eat berries together?”

Without another word, Yuuri held out his umbrella. With a sniffle and a shaky smile, Victor took the other end; together they set off, holding onto the umbrella as if holding each other’s hands.

They were further down the hill when Victor spoke again. “Yuuri?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to ask my parents if I can stay over at Aunt Natasha’s place again next summer, so...so can you wait for me at the torii gate next time too?”

“Of course,” Yuuri responded, and Victor felt a little better.

“Okay! It’s a promise then!”


	2. Into the Forest of Fireflies' Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor undergoes some growing pains.

******_iv. heavy stones fear no weather_ **

Yakov Feltsman wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Victor Nikiforov. Every time he thought he had the boy pinned down as just another airheaded young skating prodigy, he would do something out of the left field that turned Yakov’s view of him on its head.

That didn’t mean, of course, that Victor _wasn’t_ an airheaded young skating prodigy. He had a capacity for expressiveness no one could surpass, and a sensitivity that could make a stone heart cry; leave him within two feet of a stove however, and you can bet every kopek in your wallet that something was going to catch on fire.

If Yakov was being honest, he would point to Victor’s other bad points as the negatives of being an airheaded genius—the painful and tactless bluntness, a complete and utterly maddening propensity for selective deafness, and the way he couldn’t form close bonds with other skaters despite his lauded emotional maturity on the ice.

(If Yakov was being honest, the man would see the way the other skaters’ eyes followed Victor every second on the ice, staring at him jealously, covetously. _I want that. I want whatever that is, I want to skate like him. I want to win._ Their eyes seemed to say, and if Yakov was being honest, well. That can’t be good for Victor in the long run.)

But then, even as the older Russian man went through the shopping list of bad qualities, there were quite a few to balance them. Vitya could be surprisingly perceptive in certain situations, and had a kind of drive to succeed Yakov had only seen in Victor so far. He had luck and good genetics in spades, and the skills to back both those up.

If it were anyone else, Yakov would be worried when puberty hit Victor like a truck in his early teens and he’d go distracted over anything with a pulse, but from the beginning it was clear that Victor was much too focussed to let something like that distract him.

Which was _strange_ ; you would think a boy with Victor’s looks would have given at least a passing interest in _someone_ , and the apathy Victor reacted to any and all advances was extraordinarily stout to the point of suspicion _._

And then, one afternoon, as Victor practiced a new routine he produced himself, the older man had an epiphany.

The skater was alone on the ice; he had begged Yakov for another hour of ice time and was practicing a new short program in the quiet rink.

The innocent love song echoed over the silence, and the way Victor _moved_ evoked that same innocent love, fixated on _one_ person and one person alone. It was a love so gentle it melted that mysterious person’s heart of ice. It was so present in every movement of Victor’s arms that it seemed almost unconscious—the boy certainly didn’t flaunt it.

Yakov shook his head ruefully. “A childhood sweetheart, huh?” He muttered quietly, and decided to keep it to himself.

The boy would figure it out himself, sooner or later.

* * *

 

**_v. i find comfort in the sound and the shape of the heart_ **

Victor rifled around in his bathroom drawers, crowing triumphantly when he found a black hair tie. With practiced motions, he pulled his long hair into a ponytail.

(“Your hair is beautiful,” Yuuri once said, skipping stones on the pond. “It’s like silver. Under the moonlight you’ll look like a spirit.” Victor has kept it long ever since.)

“Vitya!” Yakov called from the stairs. “You are going to be late for your flight if you don’t hurry!”

“Yeah!” He yelled back, struggling with his heavy suitcase as he dragged it down. In it, he knew, was his very new and very shiny gold medal.

Newly reminted Junior World Champion, eighteen-year-old Victor Nikiforov was officially on vacation!

* * *

“Vitya! My, you’ve grown like a pole, my goodness.” Aunt Natasha said, patting him on the shoulder. Since last summer, Victor had grown almost a head in height; it was both a curse and a blessing. The added inches stretched out his limbs, making him newly awkward in once-familiar motions, but also gave him a willowy look that apparently was very attractive.

Victor laughed and hugged his favourite aunt. “Aunt Tasha! You haven’t aged a single day.”

His aunt laughed and patted him on the face. “You little flatterer,” She said cheerfully. “So I hear you are junior champion in Russia!”

“Aunt Tasha, I am junior Russian _and_ World champion yet again! I am hurt you don’t even remember that much!”

“Well, Mr. Junior World Champion, I have made your favourite katsudon from scratch! We’ll wait for your Uncle Daisuke to come home of course— but I think you want to go out into the woods like you always do.”

“Awwww, Aunt Tasha, you know me so well and yet can’t remember my titles?” With another laugh, Victor was out the door again, off to the woods. His aunt sighed in fond exasperation before she moved his things into the guest room.

“That boy,” she said, arms akimbo. “Too rambunctious for his own good.”

* * *

With wide steps, Victor hiked all the way up to the familiar gate, and there Yuuri was— still the same fox mask, the same kimono, the same umbrella. He hadn’t changed a single bit from when Victor last saw him a year ago, or even from when he first saw him.

“Victor! You’re back!” The spirit waved to him, and Victor ran up the last few steps to stand in front of Yuuri, smiling as wide as he could.

“Yuuri! I’ve won Junior Worlds again!” Yuuri gasped in pleased surprise.

“That’s great! I know you worked really hard.”

“Do you wanna see my medal? Of course you do! I have it right here!” Victor took the shiny gold medal out of his shirt, the bright metal glinting in the sunlight. Yuuri gasped with sufficient awe and leaned forward to look closely at Victor’s name engraved on it.

“That’s amazing! This is the third one, too.” Yuuri said, beaming, and Victor felt more triumph in that instant with only Yuuri for an audience than he did in the stadium with the cameras watching his every move.

“Everyone in the stadium was really impressed, even though Yakov yelled at me for turning the jump into a quadruple loop!”

“Victor, you could have gotten hurt out there! Listen to your coach when he says you could get hurt.” Yuuri gently admonished, twirling his umbrella. He pouted back, channeling his best _Convince Yakov_ face.

“But _Yuuuuri,_ ” he said. “He never lets me do anything _interesting._ All the programs he has me do are so boring! Nothing but doubles and doubles and _doubles_ , with some triples thrown in. And the step sequences are boring too! I can do so much better than that.” A sudden thought popped into his head. He pulled out his phone, and scrolled down the music library to find his free program song.

With a flourish, he stood in his starting position; as soon as the first clarinet note sounded through the tiny speakers he closed his eyes and imagined he was on ice.

Yuuri made a little gasp of surprise even as Victor moved through the grassy meadow, arms sweeping with control only a dancer could have.

He substituted his jumps with short hops, focusing more on his choreography than anything technical like he does on the ice.

Technical points didn’t matter here, not here with Yuuri.

Victor finished his best performance so far, not in a rink or on the ice, but in the middle of a forest with his best friend.

The spirit was watching him with brown eyes wide in focus. Yuuri was biting his lip in thought the way he always did whenever something was bothering him. “It’s good,” he said. “It really is. I can see why it won gold.”

“You see it too, don’t you?” Victor said, and he knew Yuuri understood. “There’s something missing.”

Yuuri frowned at the phone still on the ground. “What can you tell me about the music? Let me get some background.”

They both flopped down onto the grass, Victor excitedly giving a super quick runthrough of the Swan Lake libretto, magical swan queens and princes and evil sorcerers all.

“The Pas de Quatre I’m skating to is the introduction of the Swan Queen’s four attendants. Yakov wanted me to showcase the amount of control I have in my movements, but the choreography isn’t like me at all!” Victor huffed, arms crossed.

Yuuri frowned at him. “Wait, didn’t you say the Pas de Quatre was originally a dance for four people?” At Victor’s nod, Yuuri brightened up. “So maybe that’s why! Come and teach me the choreography.”

“W-what?”

“Well, if your program was originally designed as a dance for four, wouldn’t it be better to dance it as two rather just alone? I-if we dance it together, then maybe it’ll feel more complete.”

Victor grinned, excited. “Okay! So, watch my arms!”

* * *

“I’m kinda envious, Yuuri! It’s only been two days and you’ve got this routine down so fast!” Victor said, a little bit jealous. “I know you dance kagura for the mountain gods, but wow!”

Yuuri was good— good to the point that Victor, undergoing intensive training to make his senior debut that year, was looking quite covetously at Yuuri’s displays of core strength.

The spirit laughed, flourishing out his arms a little to flare out the sleeves of his kimono, the stripes in the fabric shining silver in the flash of sunlight. “Well, my job is essentially to dance for the gods; I can’t be anything other than well-trained. My dance tutor is very particular about everything, and we’ve had years to work on _everything_.”

“It certainly looks like it pays off!” Victor got up from the grass again. “I think we’re ready for one more run. I’m going to hit the music now!”

“Alright!” Yuuri called back a few steps away, and Victor tapped on his phone.

Before Victor consciously thought about it he was meeting Yuuri’s motions halfway; a sweep of the sleeve here answered with the lift of the leg there, motions in sync. They danced _together_ , even though they were a good ten feet apart.

Somewhere in the middle however, Victor abruptly stopped in his tracks to stare at his companion. Yuuri had taken off his trademark fox mask and his face was exposed to the world, and something about the elegant lines of his neck as Yuuri tilted his head and the shadows of the setting sun shining across the spirit’s hair made Victor feel...something.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it made him feel funny inside.

Yuuri opened his eyes again, his arms held loosely at his sides in the ending pose as the last notes poured out of the tiny speakers. “How was that, Victor?” the spirit beamed, and Victor said, despite the sensation that he was fucked somehow, “That was amazing!”

* * *

Victor visited the woods every day like he always did every summer, but this year was...strange, after that afternoon. There was an odd tension between Yuuri and Victor that didn’t exist before, and Yuuri kept throwing him these glances that Victor caught out of the corner of his eye. Victor was also looking at Yuuri—at his face whenever he took off the mask, at the way his fingers wrapped around his umbrella. His eyes traced the line of Yuuri’s neck whenever the spirit threw his head back and laughed.

(Google wasn’t being too much help—whenever he searched “heart racing at sight of person” he only got pages and pages of love advice. Aunt Tasha only smiled pityingly at his confusion, patting him on the back.

“You’ll figure it out eventually. Are they back in Russia?” She asked, and raised an eyebrow at Victor’s stuttering. Uncle Daisuke refused to stop laughing in the background.)

By the end of the summer, Victor had come to the clumsy solution to his problem: he was in love with Yuuri.

It was a thought thrumming at the back of his mind whenever he spent time with Yuuri—even as a teenager, this love seemed dangerous, and teenagers were not known for their rationality when it came to love. Then Yuuri would do something—sing a new song, dance a new rhythm, use a new turn of phrase—and Victor was surprised all over again at the emotions welling up in his chest.

 

It all went to hell one early August afternoon.

 

It took him a good three weeks, but eventually Victor screwed up enough courage to make a confession to Yuuri. After a very awkward conversation with Uncle Daisuke about hanakotoba flower meanings, he went to the tiny florist down the street and bought a single red rose, the crimson of the petals seemingly burning into his eyes.

The walk to the torii gate seemed unusually short that morning; Victor was almost tempted to slow down even more, to drag his feet up the stairs, but there was no denying the inevitable.

Yuuri was waiting at the top of the stairs; even before Victor got to the top he could see the way Yuuri’s shoulders were tensed.

Victor was just about to call out to Yuuri when he suddenly realized the spirit was talking to someone else.

He hurriedly stuffed the single red rose into his bag, hiding behind a tree as the plump woman smiled, her hand coming up to caress Yuuri’s face. Victor inhaled sharply to himself; this was the first time he had ever seen Yuuri touched by anyone.

“My dear, don’t you think it’s time to own up to it? You have feelings for Vicchan.” Her tone was knowing, her eyes kind.

The spirit worried his lip nervously. “But Hiroko-sama—I’ve known him since he was a child, barely tall enough to come up to my knees. And—and there’s the fact that we can’t—”

“None of that Hiroko-sama nonsense, Yuu-chan. You are, in all but blood, mine and Toshiya’s son and Mari’s brother. And a single childhood is nothing to spirits and gods that live in a single point of time like you and I, my child.” The mountain god said, holding on to Yuuri’s hand. “Yuu-chan, human lives are short. Best to admit your feelings now before he is gone like a snowflake.”

Yuuri made a pained noise, shaking as tears started coming down his cheeks. “I—I don’t want to do that to him, Hiro—Okaa-sama.” He said at Hiroko’s frown. “I don’t want to burden him with this. A love between a human and a spirit can only result in tears, and with me it’s a tragedy sadder than most. We can’t even touch!” Yuuri laughed wetly. “What kind of a lover would I be? I am always and forever grateful to you and Toshiya-sama, grateful for your gift of my existence and grateful that you saved me from dying as an abandoned child, but because of the nature of my being there must always be a distance. And that distance can cause nothing but pain between for all of the involved parties, should I acknowledge these feelings inside me.”

And suddenly, Victor had heard enough.

Blindly, Victor scrambled away from the two at the top of the stairs, making sure he was as quiet as he could be before breaking out of the bushes into a run, eventually half-collapsing against the trunk of a tree. His back hit the bark as he slid down to sit at the roots.

Victor took the rose out of his bag, hands shaking, before he hugged his knees to himself, covering his eyes with his arm.

“But don’t you get it, Yuuri?” He whispered to himself. “It’s already too late. I’m already in love with you.”

He thought of the way Hiroko caressed Yuuri’s cheek, and the distance, the knowledge that there was always going to be a distance, left a yawning chasm in his chest.

He slumped there against the tree for a long time.

* * *

 

For the rest of the summer, Victor did not go back to meet Yuuri.

 

* * *

 

**_vi. how it echoes through the chest from under the ground_ **

Victor met Christophe Giacometti for the first time at the Grand Prix Final a year after that disastrous summer. He was skating off the ice, fresh after his first Senior GPF victory, and Chris was just a wide-eyed junior staring in awe at Victor in the stands. The only thing Victor remembered about this momentary meeting was tossing a blue tulip to a doe-eyed boy in a Swiss jacket, who still hadn’t lost all of the baby fat on his cheeks.

Their next meeting was much more memorable. At that time they were closer to each other—Chris had shot up a good hand-and-a-half in height, making him just a smidge taller than Victor. The teen was now was standing on the podium, holding up the bronze medal proudly to the cameras.

Without too much awkwardness, the two of them slipped into an easy friendship; Victor enjoyed Chris’s secretly-dry-as-bone humour and Chris...well. Chris liked Victor for many reasons, many of which Victor will probably never know.

(Chris’s eyes seemed to linger on Victor longer than anyone else; Victor paid no attention to it, eyes turned in a different direction, towards a tiny forest far far away.)

* * *

It was Chris’s twentieth birthday, and they were celebrating making it to Worlds (not that there was any doubt for either of them in the first place; it was mostly just an excuse to get absolutely plastered in the privacy of Chris’s apartment).

“I do like you, Victor—you are, on principle, a generally likeable person.” Chris said, knocking back his fifth bottle of beer. “But sometimes, you can be such a _dick_.”

Victor snorted through his shot of vodka. “Where on earth did you get that idea?” He slurred as he pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his overheating skin.

Chris paused in his drinking. “I genuinely can’t tell,” he said, haltingly, the alcohol making both of them slow on the uptake. “Are you purposefully ignoring my feelings for you, or are you just that dense?”

Something in Victor’s brain screeched to a halt, and Chris huffed at the deer-in-headlights look on his face. “You honestly didn’t know, did you?”

“Chris…” Victor said, dazed. “I—”

“So you’re just dense, not purposefully being a dick. Good to know.” Chris leaned over to Victor’s side of the table, snatching his vodka bottle and took a mighty swig out of it despite Victor’s protests. The Swiss man’s voice grew louder, more pained. “Did you ever see me as anything more than a friend this entire time? Did you ever keep your eyes on me, even for just a second? I—”

Victor had heard enough. He leaned over to Chris, grabbed him by his lapels, and kissed him in the lips.

Chris was still for a single moment before he responded to the kiss, reaching up to intertwine his fingers into Victor’s long silver hair.

Victor closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation of skin against skin; it had been so long since he had been touched so intimately, emotionally.

And then, the other man’s hand brushed gently against his cheek— it’s a perfectly normal motion between two people making out, but for Victor it’s—

_“And that distance can cause nothing but pain between for all of the involved parties should I acknowledge these feelings inside me.”_

With a gasp, Victor jerked back from Chris, his breath coming in panicked gasps. He backed away quickly, his back hitting the wall behind him.

“I-I’m sorry,” Victor sobbed into his knees. “I-I can’t.”

There was a silence hanging awkwardly in the air; the only sound in the apartment was the sound of Victor’s frantic breathing.

Then, with slow, careful movements like someone trying to approach a wounded animal, Chris sat down beside him.

“Talk to me,” was all the man said, and before Victor knew it, the heavily abridged truth spilled out of him—the meeting in the woods, the inability to touch, about _Yuuri_.

It all touched incredibly personal portions of his life pertaining to the peculiar spirit. Victor has never told a single living soul about Yuuri, so this was perhaps the first time he admitted out loud his feelings for the youkai.

Chris didn’t ask any questions, and Victor allowed him his misunderstandings— after all, who could ever believe that his childhood sweetheart that he was _still_ hung up over was a _spirit?_

The truth, when so heavily edited, made Yuuri sound like an invalid; while he realized it was necessary, Victor hated it. It made Yuuri seem lifeless, when he brought more love and life for Victor than anything else in his twenty-four years.

“I’ve been too cowardly to go back to Japan these six years.” Victor said miserably. “I’ve been so afraid of facing Yuuri. I have feelings for him, and he has feelings for me, but I just left him there, waiting. What do I even say to him? Would he still recognize me?”

Chris frowned from beside him. “If he really does love you, then he should still be waiting for you. It sounds like you both were deeply affected by each other, and to this day you still are. It’s almost impossible for him to not remember you, Victor. Go back to Japan once Worlds is over and _talk to him._ I’ll tie you up and shove you on the plane myself if I have to.”

“Really? How would you explain my tied-up body to Customs?”

“I’ll just say you’re a collapsible stripper’s pole, they’ll let me through with no trouble.”

Victor couldn’t help it; he laughed hysterically. “Only you, Chris.” He said, wiping away a few tears that weren’t entirely from laughing. “Thank you.”

He stood up. “Now that I’m still drunk and it still seems like a good idea, I need your help for something.”

* * *

Victor stood in front of Chris’s bathroom mirror, his long hair gathered in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other; careful not to cut himself, Victor slid his hair between the blades.

In a single instant, his head became much lighter. His hair, now only jaw-length, fluttered down to cover his face.

“Hmm.” The Swiss man hummed from beside him and held out his hand for the scissors, eyes appraisingly scanning his hair. “Give them here, I need to fix your hair.”

With practiced, gentle motions, he pushed his friend’s new impromptu bangs out of his blue eyes, carefully trimming them to even lengths.

With those kind touches, Victor felt his throat tightening up. Chris stayed absolutely silent about the tears.

* * *

They were still close friends after that, but Chris never again said another word about pursuing a romantic relationship.

(Chris was a better friend than Victor deserved.)


	3. The Following of Autumn Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor deals.

**_vii._ ** **_as the hills turn into holes i fill them with gold_ **

The ten-hour long plane trip to Japan was a familiar experience by now, but this time Victor had reason to be extra nervous.

(He has literally never been this nervous in his life. Not even for a competition.)

Aunt Tasha met him at the airport this time, and she was _cross_.

“You barely _call_ , you never write! For six years, Victor Mikhailovich Nikiforov!” Aunt Tasha said, arms akimbo and eyebrows drawn together, sharper than a knife. “It is long past due for a visit! Your Uncle Daisuke has been accumulating Gundam figurines that he knew you’d like for six years in the storage room, Vitya! I’m starting to get a little batty from the heaping mess!”

Victor held up his hands in defence. “Aunt Tasha!” He protested weakly. “I’ve...I’ve been busy!”

“Of course you have, too much to even give us a proper call?”

Victor clapped his hands together and prepared to grovel for his life.

* * *

“Your room is just as you left it, dear. Daisuke isn’t going to be back from work until later this evening, so maybe go walk in the woods, I know you must have missed them...or whoever you met in them.” Aunt Tasha waved off Victor’s astonished look. “Please, Vitya, did you think I wouldn’t notice? I’m making katsudon with pirozhki tonight, and I don’t care what your fancy schmancy nutritionist says, you’re eating all of it. Now shoo, shoo! Give me space to work!”

With impatient motions, the Russian woman shunted her nephew out of her house. Victor was gone into the woods within moments, and she huffed, amused despite herself.

“That boy,” she said, arms akimbo. “Too rambunctious for his own good.”

It seemed like nothing had really changed.

* * *

The path up to the torii gate hadn’t changed a single bit; there was the familiar moss-covered stone, the monks on relief on both sides. The trees still whispered with the summer breeze, and for a moment Victor let himself close his eyes and breathe in the scent of earthy undergrowth.

Yuuri wasn’t there at the gate.

Victor swallowed, his heart in his throat. His grip grew white-knuckled on the bag of flan pudding cups, and he waited with bated breath.

There was a sudden flash out of the corner of his eyes, and Victor yelped as a blurry shape knocked into him at full speed. Victor, taken by surprise, toppled over as the animal snarled at him.

The skater looked into the familiar brown eyes and _very_ familiar sharp teeth, and grimaced. “It’s good to see you again after so long, Mari-neechan.”

The beast grinned savagely before it went up in a poof of smoke, revealing Mari on top of Victor’s chest crushing the breath out of him.

“Don’t _Mari-neechan_ me, Victor Nikiforov.” The woman bared her teeth at him. “I am _incredibly annoyed_  with you right now, and if you manage to test me further you will learn why even your people treat the Fair Folk the way they do.”

Mari took a puff on her kiseru pipe, blowing the bluish smoke aggressively into Victor’s face. “Tell me one good reason,” she said, eyes dangerously narrowed. “Why I shouldn’t curse your ass into the eight hells for hurting my brother like that. You left without a single word, and left my brother waiting day by day. He was worried out of his mind! He thought something had happened to you!”

Victor opened his mouth, and then closed it. “I have no excuses. I can only apologize to Yuuri.”

The fox spirit looked at Victor’s determined expression thoughtfully, and then lowered her pipe. “Good answer,” she said. “Come with me. I’ll take you to Yuuri.”

* * *

They walked together for a long time, Victor looking around and seeing little differences between the forest now and the one he had left that day; the tree that he had fallen off of so many summers ago was now little more than a stump, and Victor gave it a lingering look as they passed.

Mari lead him to the familiar flowery meadow, and there Yuuri was—still the same fox mask, the same kimono, the same umbrella. He hadn’t changed a single bit from when Victor last saw him six years ago, or even from when he first saw him.

Victor was just about to rush out, to call Yuuri’s name at the top of his lungs, when Mari caught his arm in a steel grip. “Wait,” she said. “Let him do his thing before you barge in there.”

Yuuri reached up slowly and took off his mask, casting it aside with his umbrella. There was a single second of pure stillness—it was like the light breeze didn’t even stir the fabric of Yuuri’s sleeves.

Then, Yuuri _moved_ , and the world stopped to watch.

Victor’s mouth gaped open, and then closed again. He didn’t take his eyes off Yuuri for a single moment.

Even without a single note of music, Yuuri was _captivating._ He moved like there was music molding to him instead of the other way around—he moved like he was making music. Victor watched Yuuri’s arms move, rounded beseechingly, a beautiful piano melody echoing in his head even as Yuuri danced.

All too soon, the routine came to an end; Yuuri closed his eyes, one hand at his chest and the other held out to the side in Victor’s direction, like he was reaching for him.

Suddenly, Victor had seen enough.

Without a second thought, he rushed ahead, ignoring Mari’s shocked cry, past the bushes, charging past the flowers, towards Yuuri. His apologies were on his tongue, his arms outstretched towards the spirit, and—

Victor face-planted into the ground at full speed as Yuuri yelped and jumped aside, and it was really like nothing had changed at all.

“Victor!” Yuuri’s voice came from above him. “Where have you _been?_ And what have you done to your _hair?!_ ”

The skater stared up into glittering chocolate brown, and thought to himself: _Correction. Yuuri hasn’t changed. But I have changed very much since the day I was first lost in these same woods._

He grinned sheepishly and grabbed on to the other end of the umbrella Yuuri was holding out, pulling himself to his feet. “I have a lot of apologies to make, but first let me say that I’ve missed you, Yuuri. I’ve missed you so much.”

The spirit flushed a bright red, his ears becoming as crimson as the waxy paper of his umbrella.

“I-I’ve missed you a lot too, Victor. But you have a lot of explaining to do!” He said, and Victor held up the bag of flan pudding in a defensive position.

“We can talk over pudding cups?”

* * *

“I thought you died,” Yuuri said, poking forlornly at the flan with the flimsy plastic spoon that came in the packaging. “When you didn’t come back, I thought...I thought the worst had happened. I thought I let you go without at least getting to say goodbye.”

Victor swallowed the mouthful of pudding; it went down like dry rocks for all the good it did him. “I’m—there are no words, but I’m so sorry, Yuuri. I freaked out and ran away, and was too much of a coward to come back and face you.”

“I get why you ran—I’m not surprised you did. Anyone sane would have. I chalked it up to you coming back to your senses and just decided to not come back anymore.” Yuuri said. “What I am surprised about is this—why did you come _back?_ ”

Victor was silent for a moment. “I realized something. Something really important. It shook me to the core, and I couldn’t stay away. It’s—Yuuri.”He gulped, and forced the next words out of his mouth. “I’m-I’m in love. With you.”

At Yuuri’s expression of shock, he pressed on. “I was scared—scared that you’d reject me. Scared that there was always going to be a distance between us, just because we can’t touch. Look at me! I’m a good head taller than you are, and I’ve already caught up to you in age. And then I realized—I realized after so many years—that all of that didn’t matter. I just—” Victor said, seemingly not realizing that he was tearing up. “I don’t need to touch you—I don’t. I just need to stay close to you, and never let go. You gave me life and love, Yuuri.”

There was an incredibly tense silence. Yuuri slowly turned to Victor, and opened his mouth.

“Victor is an idiot.”

That wasn’t what he was expecting. Yuuri didn’t wait for a response, and continued on. “Victor is dense, horrible with pep talks, and incredibly tactless. Victor is stupidly blunt. Victor is so dense that he didn’t even think about _talking to me about this_ before he ran off for years without saying anything!” Yuuri was crying now, shouting the words at him. “I waited! I waited and waited, everyday! I was so worried! Do you know how many stories there are about unhappy partings for people like us?!”

“I’m sorry, Yuuri. I was just...scared and stupid.”

“What do you want me to be to you? A father figure? A friend? A lover?”

“I want you to be Yuuri. I want to stay by your side.”

Yuuri sniffled, eyes still red. “Do you really mean that?”

“I promise, Yuuri. I promise to meet you in the middle.”

“You owe me so many pudding cups for this.”

“I’ll buy you all the pudding in the world and more if you’ll forgive me.”

“Idiot. I love Victor, dramatics and all.”

Victor couldn’t help the grin stretching across his face, and Yuuri laughed back, wiping away his tears.

* * *

The rest of the summer passed in a blur, Victor spending the days in the forest with Yuuri. Without fail, he showed up every day with flan pudding cups that the two of them shared.

(He also got Mari some of the best cigarettes he could get his hands on, and the fox spirit begrudgingly said that he was “alright”. Victor internally rejoiced.)

Fall ended up sneaking up on the two of them, and soon it was Victor’s last day in Japan. Victor soaked up Yuuri’s voice and face, preparing to store up all the affection he could like an emergency reservoir.

Before Victor left, Yuuri smiled and dropped an omamori onto his hand. “For you.” He said quietly, and Victor smiled right back, holding on carefully to the small cloth charm.

The skater brought it up to his lips, kissing the brocade gently. It was strangely smooth under his fingers, like all other fabric the spirits of the forest produced.

“I’ll skate for you, Yuuri. I promise to show you my best routine one day, so please wait for me.”

Yuuri smiled, and Victor’s thoughts about time and the passing thereof was derailed.

“It’s a promise,” he said.

* * *

**_viii. heavy stones fear no weather (recursion)_ **

Mila stared at their resident living legend, who was working on his short program of the season.

As always for the first performance of the year, all the other skaters had left the ice to watch Victor run through the routine.

“Victor says his theme is going to be ‘Longing’ this year. What a theme!” Georgi said from beside Mila. “Who could he be longing for? Is he just yearning for someone to love?”

“I really don’t think that’s it,” Mila whispered back. “We’ve never seen him date _anyone_ , but it’s less like he’s not interested and more like he’s taken already and just hasn’t told the rest of the world.”

She watched Victor hold his starting pose and nod at Yuri, who begrudgingly pressed the play button on the sound system.

A vivacious waltz started playing, and Victor pushed off, straight into a quad toeloop to the trill of strings.  

From what Victor had told Yakov, apparently both his programs were based on fairytales. Mila could definitely see why; if she squinted her eyes it felt like Victor was dancing a program for two with an imaginary partner that only he could see.

It was an incredible program; Victor had a knack for conveying a story that no one else had, and this program did it extraordinarily well. Victor, a lonely prince, has met a most enchanting lady at the ball, and this is the dance they have together, falling in love. Bound together in a dance of the fantastical, they sweep each other off their feet...

Georgi sighed to himself. “Maybe I should change my programs to reflect my love for Anya…”

“Oh no you don’t, we already have a set of lovestruck programs here! Have you _seen_ Victor’s free program? I don’t think the world can take that much anxiousness."

“I don’t think that’s quite it,” the man said, frowning. “His free program—Stammi Vicino, was it? Yes, there’s anxiety and pain in it, but ultimately it’s a plea for his lover to stay with him. I think it’s wonderful.”

Mila grinned at Georgi and elbowed him in the side, just as Victor lifted off on a quad flip. “You’ve got some competition for love song programs now, huh Georgi?”

“Simply a cross I have to bear,” the other skater said, half-seriously. “My love for Anya will carry me through!”

* * *

**_ix. from the rain comes a river running wild that will create_ **

An idea had been growing in Victor’s head for a good while now.

It started at the banquet after the Sochi Grand Prix Finals, where he got the expected gold medal.

The sponsors were crowding around him like vultures, and everyone was asking the same questions, year after year, so much so that he could answer them by rote.

And then, a reporter asked him a familiar question again, and Victor found himself suddenly thinking.

The man had asked, “What do you want to do now? What’s next for you after this season?”

Victor smiled and deflected, but the words kept echoing in his head the rest of the evening. What _did_ he want to do now? He had won everything there was to win at least once. He had won the Grand Prix five times in a row. He had won Worlds too many times to count. He had the Olympic gold medals still on display in his apartment. What _did_ he want?

As soon as it was socially acceptable, Victor had excused himself from the banquet citing exhaustion. He snuck away from Yakov’s watching eyes, and went by himself to the indoor pool of the hotel. With only the sound of the lapping water at his bare feet, he thought about it.

Here was a list of things that Victor had: a grumpy coach and interesting rinkmates. Friendships with interesting people in the figure skating world, friends whose sanity he sometimes wondered about (by the time he left the banquet earlier Chris was already mostly naked and draped over his boyfriend, Stéphane. Victor was happy for him). More money than he knew what to do with. A glass cabinet filled with medals and trophies.

Here’s what he wanted: In the far off country of Japan, there lived his Aunt Tasha and Uncle Daisuke, who welcomed him into their home for years every summer without a word. Near that familiar house, there was a forest, and in that forest, there was a spirit in a fox mask waiting for him at the torii gate. He wanted to walk up those cobblestone stairs every day, and see that spirit at the top of the stairs, waving at him. He wanted to see the leaves falling with him, he wanted to watch the pond freeze over with him, and one day, he was going to skate his best routine on that pond for him.

Victor thought about it, and came to a decision.

* * *

“What do you _mean,_ you’re RETIRING?!” Yakov roared one April evening. “You absolute fool! You’re still young, you can keep going for another season!”

“But _Yakov_ ,” he said. “This was always the plan in my head. At the very least, I’m going to take a year off and reassess where I am. I’ve always wanted to move closer to Aunt Tasha in Japan and spend more time with them.”

“Vitya, listen to me. If you leave now, you can never come back again!” Yakov said. “Think long and carefully about this.”

“Nothing you say can change my mind.” Victor said, gently but insistently. “My plane leaves tomorrow. My things are already packed, and Makkachin is ready to go. Thank you so much, for everything, Yakov. You’re the best coach I could ever have.”

There was silence in the room before Yakov sighed, defeat in the sound. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t see this coming.” Victor looked at Yakov in shock, not expecting the easy acceptance. “There’s something on your mind in Japan, isn’t there? Go and get that settled. If you come back to the ice, you know how to find me.”

Without a second thought, Victor reached out to wrap the shorter man in his arms, hugging his coach as hard as he could. “Thank you so much,” he whispered, and Yakov grunted, patting him on the arm while seemingly embarrassed at the rare display of emotion.

“Go and pack up, Vitya. Do what you need.”

* * *

Before he left St. Petersburg, Victor went to the jewelry shop down the street and bought two plain gold rings.


	4. Deepening the Scar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life just before, and life after. The light of fireflies is a heartbreakingly beautiful sight.

**_x. an empire for you_ **

Makkachin ran up the stone stairs, excited to explore the new surroundings, taking brief detours to sniff at interesting things before jumping up and running forward. Victor huffed and puffed up the steps as fast as his knees could take him.

The brown poodle bounded ahead of him, barking excitedly all the way up before his owner could even call him back.

Yuuri was waiting for him as always, and Makkachin barrelled into him like a 70-pound missile of fur before Victor could warn him. There were sounds of delighted yapping, and Yuuri was laughing as the poodle jumped up to lick at his mask.

“Makkachin, down!” He called, and the two of them on the ground looked up at him as Victor climbed up the last few steps, trying to catch his breath from the exertion. “I’m sorry Yuuri! It looks like dear Makkachin just got over excited when he heard he was going to meet you.”

The large poodle barked, the sound echoing in the quiet woods, and resumed his licking at Yuuri’s cheek.

“It’s alright. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Yuuri laughed again as Makkachin’s tail wagged at top speed, still trying to lick at every inch of his mask. The spirit reached up to take it off and Makkachin just went bonkers in excitement, redoubling his efforts to lick at Yuuri’s face instead.

Victor looked on, slightly jealous of Makkachin. “Even my dog has betrayed me!” He groaned. “Makkachin, you better not hog all of Yuuri’s kisses!”

“Well too bad.” Yuuri said cheerfully. “I like Makkachin’s kisses very much.”

“Yuuuuurrriiiiii!” Victor whined, and basked in the sound of Yuuri’s laughter.

 

* * *

 

Uncle Daisuke, being a good and dependable Japanese man with quite a fatherly streak, pulled Victor aside one June evening after dinner.

“Vicchan,” he said. “Are you going to give that ring to them or what?”

Aunt Tasha, who was drinking a glass of juice in the other room, did an immediate spit-take. Victor found himself flushing in a way that he thought was trained out of him years ago by the press; he pressed his flaming red cheeks into his palms, groaning. “ _Uncle Daisuke_ ,” the figure skater said, mortified. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m just saying,” Uncle Daisuke refused to be swayed. “I’ve seen you move that ring into your pocket without fail every single day. If you take after Tasha in any way whatsoever you would take years to actually pop the question! How long did it take you to even confess in the first place?”

“Six years.” Victor muttered before he could stop himself, and Uncle Daisuke immediately threw his arms up in disgust.

“Oh, is _that_ your reason for avoiding this country entirely for _six years?_ You couldn’t confess?! And after I so painstakingly bought so many Gun-Pla for you over so long! You really are a chip off the old block—say, did you ever hear about how your Aunt Tasha confessed to me in the US? It’s a great story that involves sixteen flutes of champagne and a stripper pole—”

“ _Daicchan,_ ” Aunt Tasha gasped, scandalized. “ _You promised to never tell him._ ”

“I promised not to tell him while he was still a kid, but now he’s a good nine years overdue for the ‘How-I-Met-Your-Aunt’ tale he so richly deserves! And I knew this day would come, so I still have video evidence of that sly vixen that bewitched my heart—and this woman got so blackout drunk she forgot everything the next day!”

“ _Daisuke I am never talking to you again._ ”

Even as Aunt Tasha tried to smack Uncle Daisuke on the back of his head, Victor reveled in the warmth of the cozy room and the sound of laughter.

How was he lucky enough to get any of this? This warmth, this _home_. Aunt Natasha and Uncle Daisuke had no obligation to take him in that first summer, take him in every summer and shower him with affection— Aunt Tasha just barely has enough shared blood to be called a relative—and yet. They were the ones who called him after every competition, they were the ones giving him love advice at goddamn age twenty-four, they were the ones who were _here_ , with him.

The gratitude welling up overwhelmingly in his throat, Victor tackled the closest people he had to actual parents with a hug. “Thank you, so much. For everything. More than you could ever know, and more than I can pay back.”

And if Uncle Daisuke’s eyes looked a little red and Aunt Tasha was sniffling a little afterwards, well. Victor didn’t say a single word.

 

* * *

 

It took another three months and the velvet covered box burning a hole in his pocket every day before Victor finally mustered up the courage to just get it over with.

“So, I have something to give you.” Victor said to Yuuri, a few days after that mortifying conversation with his uncle. “I’m just going to thread it on a twig right now, okay? No peeking!”

“Alright, alright! I promise. What’s with the big surprise though?” Yuuri said, smiling as he picked at the grass of the meadow. “I mean it! This suspense is ridiculous.”

“I promise you it’s worth it. You can turn around now.”

Victor held out the twig to Yuuri, a plain gold ring held in balance on the thin strip of wood. Yuuri stared, and then carefully took it.

“Why are you giving me a ring?” He asked, confused. “Is this some sort of human custom that I don’t know about?”

Victor paused. This wasn’t how he expected this to go, but he could roll with it.

“In the human world,” the skater said, gently. “A person gives another person a ring to propose marriage.”

Those words did the trick; the mask covered Yuuri’s face but his ears grew flaming red.

“W-why are you giving this to me?!” The spirit squeaked.  

“I can’t wait for summer to see you anymore.” Victor said. “I’m going to move here, and stay for the entire year from this year on.”

“Victor!” Yuuri said, eyes widen behind his mask. “Are you _sure?_ What about your skating?”

“I’m twenty-seven, Yuuri. I know time seems stationary to you, but for me it’s moving faster than ever. I’m at a reasonable age for an athlete to retire. I can barely even keep up with Makkachin up these stairs any more.”

“Don’t think I don’t know that, Victor. Don’t think I don’t know your time with me is limited— I know that; I think about that every time I wait at the gate.” Yuuri said, hugging his knees. “But this is taking a step deeper down and further in.”

“I get that. But let’s make the most of it.” Victor said, voice as steady as he could make it. Yuuri looked at him, long and searchingly, before sighing.

Without another word, the spirit slipped the ring onto his finger, and Victor’s heart was set to burst.

He laughed instead, and kissed the matching ring on his own hand; Yuuri, blushing, did the same.

“My first kiss with Yuuri,” Victor said. “I’ll treasure it.”

There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other, suddenly uncertain how to proceed.

“Um, now that we—we are betrothed, I want to ask—” Yuuri said. “Are—are you free on the night of the seventh?”

“The seventh?”

“There’s a festival on the mountain that night—a festival for youkai. It’s one of the largest around! It’s so popular that sometimes humans slip in just to join the fun. It’s—it’s Tanabata, and it’ll be great if you came!” The spirit said, fiddling with his new ring, like he was waiting for Victor to refuse.

As if Victor _could_. “Of course. I’ll dig my yukata out of Uncle Daisuke’s closet too, I don’t want to look too out of place. And we’ll match! I hope my yukata still fits…”

“Um, right. So I’ll meet you at eight at the usual place?”

“Of course, my Yuuri.” He watched enthralled as the crimson red spread across Yuuri’s cheeks from the words, and Victor could barely keep the awe off his own face—how on _Earth_ did he get this lucky?

He was looking forward to it.

 

* * *

 

The fabric of the navy blue yukata felt strange on Victor’s skin as he climbed up the stairs, walking past the familiar monks in base relief. The summer air was warm, a certain sensation hanging in the air—it was going to rain soon, but for now the stars were wonderfully bright in the sky. Victor prayed that they would both stay dry until after the festival.

Yuuri was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, and Victor’s heart seemed to stop beating for a second at the sight; he had the urge to clutch at his own chest but resisted.

The spirit was still wearing black, but this time the fabric was shot with silver thread that shone in the light of the crescent moon. Large crystals were threaded in the front, accentuating Yuuri’s figure, pointing at the curve of his waist, the delicate set of his shoulders, the line of his neck. His ever present mask was tilted to the side to reveal his face and warm brown eyes.

Victor could feel his mouth going drier by the second.

Yuuri smiled knowingly and carefully passed him a white cloth, like a handkerchief. “Here, Victor. Tie this around your wrist. It gets pretty crowded at the festival.” Victor took the other end of the strip of cloth and tied it securely to his right wrist.

“This is like a date, isn’t it?” He teased. “You holding my hand, a festival, romantic lighting.”

“Idiot. We’re betrothed. It’s a date, Victor.” Yuuri teased right back, and he laughed, pulling at the strip of cloth like he would Yuuri’s hand.

“So it is. Let’s go eat takoyaki! Can you believe I’ve never actually had it before?”

 

* * *

 

They took their time walking through the brightly lit stalls, Victor buying every kind of food he could get his hands on; he chomped his way through half a dozen taiyaki and cackled at the disgusted look on Yuuri’s face.

“I hate you so much right now. The betrothal is off! My intended has a disgustingly fit body that can eat as much taiyaki as he can shovel down his gullet without getting fat! Gods above, how is that even fair!” Yuuri groaned, looking covetously at the grilled squid Victor was working his way through.

“Don’t worry, Yuuri! You’re always beautiful.” Victor laughed through the mouthful of greasy food. Yakov would have a tantrum if he knew he was eating this much junk in one go but what he doesn’t know won’t make him go into an apoplectic fit.

“Let’s just move away from the food stalls and save myself from temptation.” Yuuri said, tugging him over to the bunches of bamboo in the corner.

Yuuri showed him how to write his wish on the tanzaku and tie it to the green branches, carefully inking in his own and threading the ribbon through. Victor had some trouble with the strange brush and ink, but managed to write legibly—a minor miracle in and of itself.

“What did you write?” Victor asked, staring at the incomprehensible scribble on the piece of paper. His own strip of paper, written in Cyrillic, swayed in the breeze.

“Y-you’re not supposed to tell others, Victor!” The spirit flushed, and started tugging him towards the sound of drums. “They’re starting the fireworks!”

“Ah! Yuuri!”

Soon after they left, a hand reached out, tilting the words up to the flickering light of the torches.

“Look, Toshiya, aren’t they silly? They’ve wished for the exact same thing—to stay close, together—and didn’t even tell each other.”

“Our children are certainly troublesome. He definitely takes after you, Hiroko.”

 

* * *

 

By the time the festival wound down, the moon was low in the sky and half-hidden in the clouds. All around them, both youkai and people were taking down decorations, extinguishing lamps and clearing up stalls for the night, ready to go back to their beds after a celebration. Kids ran around, playing tag and generally getting underfoot much to the amused annoyance of the adults.

“The fireworks were wonderful, Yuuri! I’ve never seen them move _after_ they’ve burst.” Victor said cheerfully, hand swinging in time with Yuuri’s as they walked side by side down the small dirt trail.

“Of course. Youkai fireworks are half illusion, and limited by imagination alone.” Yuuri said. “There’s one year when a master illusionist was in town and worked up a firework in the shape of a tiger, snarling and leaping through the sky. It was quite a sight.”

“I would imagine so!” They chattered like this, and then fell into a comfortable silence, just walking together companionably. Victor watched Yuuri’s brown eyes sparkle in the dim light.

Suddenly, Yuuri stopped in his tracks, his face flushing adorably. “Um, Victor,” the spirit said, hesitantly. “Can we stand here for a second?”

Victor stood still, looking bemusedly at his fiance. “What is it?”

Yuuri took off his mask and carefully pressed it onto Victor’s face, and then stood up as tall as he could to press a kiss on the ceramic. He felt the pressure of Yuuri’s kiss, heard the sound of Yuuri’s lips brushing against the whorl of paint there.

Victor was closer to Yuuri than he has ever been, and was hyper aware of every movement, every breath. His heart was beating out of his chest.

“There,” Yuuri said, oh so shyly. “You—you can keep the mask. I think this is the last time that I’ll ever need to hide my face.”

“Oh,” Victor gasped back. “ _Oh._ Yuuri.”

Yuuri smiled, and tugged on the cloth. “C’mon, let’s head back.”

As they kept walking, Victor kept touching the smooth ceramic on his face. _This is the last time Yuuri will need to hide his face. This is the last summer where he has to wait for me. By this festival next year, it’ll all have changed._

There was the sound of laughter coming from behind them, and a trio of masked little girls in yukata ran past, giggling wildly and running as fast as their short legs could take them. One of them tripped on the uneven road beside Yuuri and the spirit reached out and grabbed her arm, steadying her.

“Watch out,” he said quietly to her. “The ground is quite uneven here.”

All three of the girls bowed quickly to him in thanks, and then ran off into the distance as if in fear of being told off.

Victor smiled fondly at the children—the overflowing energy reminded him of himself, when he too was just a child lost in the woods.

And then, Yuuri jerked to a stop again beside him.

Victor was just turning to Yuuri, about to ask what was wrong, when his eyes saw Yuuri’s fingertips glowing and turn translucent, breaking into motes of light like the luminescence of fireflies.

“Yuuri, oh my god. Was she a human?!” He said, his heart sinking to the bottom of his stomach. The spirit turned to him, brown eyes wide.

And then, in that moment, he seemed to make a decision.

Yuuri threw open his arms, his sleeves fluttering with the motion. “Victor, come here! I can finally touch you now!” He smiled, Yuuri’s entire body glowing with a silvery light.

He had no time to think; with a single motion, Victor threw the mask aside, laughing as he leapt at the spirit.

Yuuri’s lips were wonderfully warm and solid under his, impossibly smooth and perfect.

And then, Victor was falling, falling toward the ground alone as the motes of light escaped from his grasp like fireflies flying out of his hands.

He landed on the dirt, his knees thumping onto the worn down path.

With his blurry vision and numb fingers, he gathered up all that was left of Yuuri— the painted ceramic mask, his clothes, the gold ring in the dirt.

Victor clutched at the cloth of the yukata, his fingers digging into the fabric. The shimmering silver crystals were were nothing but blurs in his teary vision as Victor buried his face into dark cotton.

"You never got to see me skate," was all he managed to get out, before great sobs broke out of his chest and he was crying like he was six again, all alone and lost in the woods.

But Victor was so lucky, they were both so _lucky_ that they had this chance, even just once— they got this opportunity, and Victor couldn’t help but be thankful, despite the pain choking him, leaving him to tremble on the cold ground face down.

He was there for a long time.

 

* * *

 

Victor didn’t quite remember quite what happened next; he did remember holding on to the precious bundle in his arms as he stumbled his way back to the harsh lights of the human world, trudging slowly on the asphalt and slowly making his way back to Aunt Tasha and Uncle Daisuke’s house in pouring rain, the clouds having finally broken as he made his way back.

He remembered, afterwards, how Aunt Tasha draped a dry towel around his shoulders and Uncle Daisuke shoved a cup of hot tea into his cold hands.

They said nothing, offering their comfort in silent company.

The three of them sat in the living room together as Victor cried his way through the night.

 

* * *

 

**_xi. illuminate there's a river running wild that will create_ **

Victor spent the next three days in bed, staring up at the familiar ceiling of his room. Aunt Tasha and Uncle Daisuke checked up on him in their own ways; they made sure he ate something and drank water, made sure he was okay, and Uncle Daisuke even dragged all the Gun-Pla models he had been saving up for Victor to pile into a corner of his room.

(“Do whatever you want to them,” he said. “Build them, break them. Whatever you need.”

Victor felt the gratitude just rising up in his throat, and only nodded.)

But, he couldn’t stay in bed. Victor got tired, tired of being depressed, tired of not doing anything. And there was something he still needed to do, something he had promised Yuuri a long time ago.

 

* * *

 

The owner of the Ice Castle recognized him and let him in to skate for free. When Victor protested and tried to properly rent the ice the woman only laughed cheerfully and waved him off, eyes dancing in amusement.

“Don’t worry about it! It’s not like anyone else was using it this time of the day.” She said.

Victor thanked the woman profusely and went to lace up his skates.

The moment when his skates hit the ice was like a deep sigh for Victor; he didn’t do anything especially strenuous, only slowly tracing compulsory figures.

Then, he skated over to the sound system and plugged his phone in.

The soft piano melody his composer wrote for him started playing, echoing over the empty ice. Victor closed his eyes and raised his arms, rounded beseechingly.

This program was the culmination of his career and his relationship with Yuuri, the movements based on the dance he saw Yuuri perform, that day when he came back to finally apologize and confess.

He tried to capture the grace, the ethereality of Yuuri’s movements—but he wasn’t Yuuri. But by god, did Victor try—his bones and tendons and every part of his body screamed at him— _this routine is too straining!_ —but he pressed on, even through the ina bauer that made his back protest in pain.

When he eased into the ending pose, Victor closed his eyes and reached out to someone who was no longer there.

There, holding the pose on the ice, Victor made the decision.

This program, this dance, was for Yuuri and Yuuri only. He may practice it, others may see it, but he will never skate it again for competition.

“One more year.” he said to himself, the sound lonely over the ice. “One more year, for you, Yuuri.”

 

* * *

 

Before his departure, he made one more trip to the torii gate, even though Victor knew there would be no one waiting for him. Makkachin trotted beside him, perhaps sensing his mood and chose to stay close to him.

To his surprise, Mari was waiting for him there, along with Hiroko and a man Victor guessed to be the other god of the mountain, Toshiya.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything; he only bowed in respect like his uncle had taught him.

“Oh, Vicchan. There’s no need to stand on ceremony.” Hiroko sounded choked, and before he knew it the mountain god had wrapped Victor in her arms.

“We wanted Yuuri to stay with us for eternity, but perhaps that was not to be; he always did want to be close to a human. Thank you so much for granting his wish.” Hiroko’s voice broke as she continued, starting to cry. “I’m glad it was you.”

All around them in the trees were other youkai, saying some variation of _thank you_ , _thank you for Yuuri_ and Victor was crying harder again because the youkai were crying too. Makkachin pressed close to his leg, as if offering what comfort he could.

Together, they mourned for someone they had all lost.

 

* * *

 

**_xii. an empire for you, an empire for two_ **

The first thing Victor did, coming back to his apartment, was to clear out the glass case in the living room. Without a second thought, he swept all his gold and silver medals into cardboard boxes, out of their place of veneration.

In their place, Victor placed the mask, still strangely smooth even after all these years.

The yukata went into the back of his closet, but it was never quite forgotten. The ring—the ring went on his other hand.

Let the media, let the world think what they wanted. He would remember Yuuri however he damn well wanted.

 

* * *

 

He went back to the old competition grind—practice, training, brief days of rest. This time around however, everyone kept giving him strange looks, as if they were expecting Victor to suddenly grow another head or have a mental breakdown. Even Yura was looking at him in concern covered by fake annoyance, and had once shoved a bag of pirozhki into his hands without any prior notice, much like a cat bringing back a dead animal.

(If Victor was paying attention to himself, he would have realized he was acting really out of character—he wasn’t complaining in practice, he was skipping out on Mila’s Friday night drinking binges/bitch fests, he stayed on the ice far longer than he usually did. But he wasn’t paying attention.)

One day, out of the blue, Georgi pulled him aside. Victor yelped at the sudden kidnapping right at the end of practice and yelled for Yakov, but the older man was giving Georgi a look, clearly a “Get-Victor-Sorted-Out” kind of message. Without further ado, Georgi dragged him out of the rink to a cafe nearby that had wonderful pastries.

“ _What the hell Georgi_ ,” Victor hissed. The other man only shrugged as he paid the cashier for two coffees.

“Did you break up?”

Victor was taken aback. “What?”

“You’ve been moping, Victor. I’m in no position to throw stones, but even Yura can see how you're not yourself lately, and I know heartbreak when I see it. Was it a bad breakup?” Georgi said, eyes knowing.

“That’s—that’s not it.” Victor replied, his eyes on his coffee. “That’s not what happened.”

“Then tell me what happened, Vitya. Knowing you, you’ve probably told exactly no one about it. You need to tell someone the whole story—you’ll feel better, and it’s not like the whole rink didn’t know you already had someone.”

VIctor looked at Georgi, who grinned back. “C’mon, Vitya. Every one of your programs about love screams about a particular target. Did you think we wouldn’t notice?”

“No, of course. It makes sense.” He had been thinking about Yuuri, like he always did. “It wasn’t a breakup. The story is...a really long one. It’s not one I’m ready to tell, not just yet.”

Georgi didn’t force the issue and just sat with him, talking about his latest date with Katerina, with slight undercurrents of whining about Anya (again). Victor was both secretly grateful and exasperated—all his friends were extremely supportive, but utterly strange with their support.

He was so lucky.

 

* * *

 

For some reason, he was having trouble finding music for his free program this time around. Usually Victor would trawl through his vast collection of music, looking for something that struck a chord with what he wanted to choreograph, but this time around there didn’t seem to be a single song he wanted to use. He talked with Piero but he didn’t seem to have anything for him either— everything the Italian musician brought to him seemed to be just a little _off_.

So Victor resigned himself to just making up bits of choreography and enduring Yakov’s yelling sessions; he wasn’t going to just _make up his damn mind and pick a song already_. This year was Yuuri’s year, and Victor was going to skate his absolute goddamn best.

He had his theme. He had his short program. Why was this free skate so damn hard to create?

 

* * *

 

Help came from an unexpected quarter at an even more unexpected time.

“Ooooi, Victor! I know you’re in there!” Yuri’s irritated voice came from outside his apartment door along with the sound of aggressive knocking. “Come open this door before I break it!”

Victor groaned as he turned under his covers, worming his way deeper under the duvet. “G’ way, Yura. Le’ me sleep.”

There was a brief moment of blessed silence, before Yuri was suddenly at his bedside and dragged him out forcefully.

“How—how did y’ get in?” Victor mumbled.

“You dumbass, you keep your spare key with me.”

“You’re abusing your powers for evil, Yura.” He mumbled, before he propped himself up, yawning in the soft morning light streaming through the windows.

“Get up already! You promised to help me with my free program you forgetful fuck!” The teen roared right into his ear.

Without further ado, Victor struggled his way out of bed and into the bathroom to clean up for the day. Yuri went to his kitchen and proceeded to rummage through his cupboards for food, very shamelessly eating the last bowl of Victor’s favourite cereal.

By the time Victor had finished washing up and walked into the kitchen, Yuri had already devoured all his food and was wrestling with his sound system, cursing as he fiddled with the buttons.

“No, goddamn it I don’t want the radio!” The young teen hissed as the stereo started playing a mellow pop song. Something about the sound—gentle piano and soaring vocals—grabbed his attention.

“No, wait. I want to keep listening. Does it say what song it is?” Victor said, taking in the lyrics as he closed his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s here.” Yuri grabbed a pen and notepad from the counter, jotting down the name of the song and artist before glaring at him. “C’mon Victor, chop chop you owe me a practice session! Move your lazy ass, I got Yakov to clear out the rink for us today and there’s no way we can be late for this!”

“Alright, alright!” Victor groaned and grabbed a leftover pirozhki from the last time Yuri had shoved a bag of them into his hands. “Let’s go, then.”

 

* * *

 

Throughout the entire session, Victor was noticeably paying more attention to his own thoughts rather than Yuri, and it showed in the way he absentmindedly corrected his step sequences. He wasn’t wrong in any of his advice per se, but it was painfully clear that the older man’s heart wasn’t in it.

“Are you even paying attention?” Yuri growled, annoyed at his obvious distraction. The teen scraped to a stop in front of him, scowling.

Victor looked away from his phone, playing the song from earlier in the morning on repeat. “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s just that this song—” He waved his hands. “It has a certain...je ne sais quois about it. It’s very...”

“Y’know, if you like it so much, why don’t you just goddamn skate to it?” The younger skater grumbled, and stopped in his tracks when he saw the look on Victor’s face. “Oh no, you son of a bitc—”

“Yura! You’re going to help me! To make sure Yakov doesn’t bite my head off, you’re going to be my spotter!” Victor beamed at the other skater, who grimaced.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, one more time from the top!” Victor huffed as he supported himself on his knees for a moment, trying to get back his breath. “I almost have it!”

“Victor, I’m fucking starving! Let’s just call it a day.”

“Not yet, Yura. One more, one more time.” he gasped, still panting.

Yuri stared at him for a long moment, seemingly searching for something, before his face pulled back into a disgusted snarl.

“This isn’t like you, Victor. This music isn’t like any of the other crap you’ve used over the years. It’s too...too innocent.” Yuri said. “You do soft, but I’ve never seen you do innocent before. What gives?”

“You know me, Yura. Always looking to surprise. Why should this be any different?”

“There’s a goddamn difference this time around, old man, and you know it.” Yuri scuffed the ice angrily with his toepick. “Fine, don’t tell me. But you better skate your best, or I’m going to snatch the gold from your wrinkled fingers.”

“I look forward to it,” Victor replied, and was genuinely surprised to find that he meant it.

 

* * *

 

People talked for years afterward about his performances that one season. They talked about his theme _(love, of all things)_ , his music _(uncharacteristic, but[fitting](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNdHd1asf9s)) _ and his personal life _(annoyingly close to the chest)_. They picked over videos and interviews, trying to find that _something_ that drove Victor to skate like he did.

They say, afterwards, that it was the best swan song Victor could have given to the world.

(Deep down, Victor knew different. His best swan song would have been so much better.)

But let them say what they wanted. Let them pick over his every word, his every jump. Only he would know how the luminescence of fireflies filled the air on that night.

For years afterward they talked about those performances, and he would never answer their questions. He would remember Yuuri however damn well he wanted.

He was doing it now, lying in an empty grass field, the familiar ceramic mask cool to the touch on his face. The buzz of summer surrounded him and Victor closed his eyes, smiling.

In his dreams, there was the flicker of sunlight on dark hair, and there Yuuri was.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, I promise regular updates; this fic is, for once, _finished_.  
>  I originally planned it as a oneshot, but then it grew into a monster, so I'm chopping this thing up into pieces; but at least you'll know it'll get finished for sure.)
> 
> Please, look forward to it!
> 
> Kudos to those who can guess both the chapter and section titles.


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